


Mesomorph

by Wallissa



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Established Relationship, Face Slapping, If You Squint - Freeform, Light BDSM, M/M, Nipple Play, Non-Penetrative Sex, Play Fighting, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Relationship, Sub Frank Castle, army days, extremely light I'd say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-03
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22993927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wallissa/pseuds/Wallissa
Summary: It's night and everyone's too exhausted to hold a decent conversation, let alone indulge in some ridiculous play fighting. Billy, never one to let an intricate ritual slip past, tries anyways. And if his excuse to get closer to Frank ends with bitten lips and a wet chest, he's not going to complain.(A mix of moon-pale skin, wandering hands and dreams of April)
Relationships: Frank Castle/Billy Russo
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	Mesomorph

**Author's Note:**

> Entirely inspired by [this post](https://typinggently.tumblr.com/post/611426387112476672%22) on tumblr - "hey bro just pin my wrists above my head and put your tongue in my mouth and grind on me please"

It starts off, as most things do, with an innocent little remark. Alcohol would be the classy excuse, but these days, they manage just fine without it. More often than not, a particular mix of exhaustion and that specific kind of boredom that comes with being locked away from civilisation with the same group of men for weeks at a time is all it takes.  
Not that the why’s and how’s are very important, anyhow. What’s important is that they’re sitting around, with empty heads, exhausted, sun-burnt (well, most of them, anyhow), staring into the night, when Billy turns his head. “Do you do push-ups while we’re not looking?”

The night makes Frank look paler, his features sharper. His eyes are very dark. There’s a beat of silence, a flicker in his long lashes. “Different builds. Mesomorph, I don’t need to do much.”

Billy squints at him, pushes his arm against Frank’s, feeling the strength of his biceps through layers of fabric “Bullshit. You’ve gotten broader.” He’d know. “Mesomorph, what the fuck?”

Unimpressed by the prissy response and the way Billy is pushing into his personal space, Frank shrugs. “I said what I said. It’s just biology, some people gain muscle easier, some people are naturally slim, you know.”

“What,” Billy says, and this time one or two guys look up at the tone of his voice, “you saying you’re stronger than me?”

“I’m saying you’re built for speed and grace and stealth.”

“Stealth, huh? I could hold you down if I felt like it.”

Here, they both pause. Frank hums, then holds his stare for a moment. 

“What? You want to try?” Billy raises a brow at him, challenging.

A shrug, a little sigh. But despite the act, Frank goes down easily, broad back on the sand, jacket and shirt grey in the pale light. Fabric pulling over his chest. 

Billy rolls his shoulders back. “I hold you down and you can’t get me off, I win. You get me off, you win.” He swings one leg over Frank’s hip. Just like that, he’s towering over him, all but sitting on his lap. The wind brushing through his hair is cool, but Frank’s warm between his thighs, solid. Familiar. 

He can feel the eyes of a few of the guys, hot between his shoulder blades. Frank wouldn’t agree to shit like this for anyone else, some dumb-fuck contest that could very well end in pointless violence. But here he is, on his back, letting Billy rest his weight on him.

His hands hover over Billy’s hips for barely a second. Pavlov. After a split-second, he pulls back, not quick enough to be suspicious, and Billy misses the phantom touch immediately.

“Here, I’ll put my hands up, see if I can get you off me that way.”  
It’s probably charming, the way Frank tries to make this easy for Billy, but Billy’s not one to be charmed by alms. He frowns, slaps Frank across the cheek. “If your hands are over your head, it’s because I put them there.”  
It’s mostly for effect, the slap more sound than pain, but Frank’s eyes are black and when he’s reaching for him this time, he means it. Heat and strength, a hint of pent-up aggression, a hint of something else. Frustration, maybe.

At first, it’s just like that, a heated quarrel with Frank’s hands on him to try and push him off, Billy’s thighs tightening to keep his balance. Grappling, a mess of fleeting touches, hands squeezing and pulling at him, his own hands on Frank’s chest, his arms, trying to get a grip on his wrist. But it doesn’t stay that way, not to the outsider.  
For one, they go at it for longer than necessary. The scuffle at the beginning turning into something else, sleep-soaked, languid shoves and pulls. And it’s calculated, too, their moves slow, energy-efficient. It’s due to exhaustion, clearly. It’s not very thrilling to watch. Two rowdy kids, trying to stay up for another 15 minutes by acting up.

“Hey, you two tell me who won tomorrow,” someone says somewhere to his left, but Billy isn’t looking. Frank pulls his hand from his grasp with ease and Billy slaps at his wrist for it, almost an afterthought. He’s listening.

Boots, joints, fabric, silence. No one left but them.

Frank’s slowed, too, and he’s breaking eye contact to look to the side, eyes big and shiny in the low light. His mouth soft and parted slightly. Billy slaps him, hard.

It’s a shock, it’s not fair, but Billy has Frank’s wrists in hand and pushes them into the sand over Frank’s head. With Billy’s weight on him and his arms bend in that way, Frank has no real leverage to free himself. Dark eyes, his cheek flushed from the slap, chest rising and falling quickly. Billy leans down and pushes his tongue into his mouth.

It’s hot, messy, a different kind of fight. But he’s pushing Frank’s wrists into the sand, he’s pushing his tongue down his throat, he’s grinding down against him and he’s won.

Without breaking the kiss, he slips down a little. It changes the angle, forces him to rest more of his weight on his arms, in turn pushing Frank’s wrists down harder. Most importantly, though, when he grinds down this time, he can feel the hot line of Frank’s cock. And he could make fun of him, could bite his full lips and tease him, voice breathy and rough, hitching with laughter because _oh? That’s all it takes, Babe?_  
He won’t though, of course. After all, he’s just as hard, drunk on a few shoves to the shoulder, on Frank between his thighs.

Frank’s tongue is hot and slick and Billy wants his cock so, so badly. “I can’t fucking – “ He swallows, grinds down again, his voice catching in his throat. “I can’t fucking wait for April.”  
Three more weeks, then they’ve got those four days to themselves, some little hotel, a bed. It’s not much, but it gets Billy through the rougher days nonetheless. The promise of Frank, a door with a lock, running water. _Frank._

“I miss –“ A lot of words. The warm weight of Frank’s arm across his chest, his sleepy-soft sigh in the crook of Billy’s neck, his off-duty laughter, his moans. “-miss fucking you so much.” 

His voice is dripping with arousal, but it’s trembling, too, so he pushes his tongue back into Frank’s mouth, slick heat, half-swallowed moans. Frank with his soft lips, his clever tongue, his warmth. Unable to pull back and break the kiss for longer than necessary, Billy reaches between them to squeeze Frank’s cock through the rough material of his trousers. 

First, Frank’s mouth falls open, soft and sweet and not at all what Billy intended. It’s only when he nips at Frank’s bottom lip while pulling at his beltloops that Frank seems to remember his hands, reaching between them to unbutton his fly and, shortly after, Billy’s. 

That last part, of course, is made much more difficult by the way Billy’s pulling his right hand up again to lick his palm, suck two fingers down for good measure. It’s making him writhe and push his hips up, mindlessly searching for friction as his free hand fumbles with the buttons of his fly, which in turn spikes heat through Billy, who hollows his cheeks, the flat of his tongue pressed against the rough-dry, salty skin of Frank’s fingers. 

When Frank frees his cock from the standard issue underwear, he shudders, pulling off of Frank’s hand. The air isn’t quite cold yet, but Billy’s dripping precome and the cool rush is a surprise. Billy spits into Frank’s palm, pushes his hand down again.

Frank has nice hands. It’s one of his perks, really. Big, strong paws, one pressed into the sand again, one, dripping-slick, wrapped around their cocks. Pleasure pulses through him, hot enough to make Billy’s head spin and his hips twitch. It’s been a while – too long, actually – and Billy knows they won’t last long. Not that it matters, not that he cares. He licks his lips and shifts his weight a little to properly fuck Frank’s fist, feeling his cock pulse against his own. 

Frank reaches up with his free hand and pulls at his shirt, pulls it up to reveal his abs. Skin is easier to clean. It’s also nice to look at, even if the moonlight is too silvery to do the flush justice Billy knows to be there. The swell of his pecs is barely visible, the bunched-up hem of his shirt almost revealing his nipple, hard in the cooling air. 

Billy snaps his hips, watching the way Frank’s abs tense as he arches up slightly, fucking his own fist lazily, letting Billy do most of the work regarding friction. Not that Billy’d complain.

He reaches down, finds the trembling strength of those abs, warm and smooth. His eyes follow his fingertips as they run up Frank’s chest, feather light, until he’s pushing his hand underneath the bunched-up fabric of his shirt. Frank’s always running hot, and his pecs are a solid handful, attracting Billy’s wandering hands time and time again.  
He pinches his nipple, tugs at it gently and Frank bucks his hips hard enough to almost throw him off balance. With a little laugh, he squeezes Frank’s chest, warm and almost soft in his palm, and gives it a light tap to feel it jiggle before pulling back his hand to lick his thumb. When he pinches the poor, abuse-hot nipple this time, Frank trembles, lashes fluttering, lip twitching into a half-snarl with the effort of keeping still and quiet.

His palm rests on Billy’s hip, warm and heavy, and now his grip tightens to the point that Billy knows he’ll bruise. His hips twitch at the thought, but he can’t move, Frank’s thumb digging into his hipbone. Now it’s his turn to bite back his moan, trembling and breathy-silent, cock pulsing against Frank’s. He’s not going to last much longer.

Thankfully, Frank uses his bruising grip to still him so he can stroke them properly. There’s a flutter in his lashes and he’s tightening his grip. He brushes his palm over the slick tips of their cocks, making the slide easier on the next downstroke, slick-tight.

Two more strokes, four, and Frank’s lashes flutter again, his head tipping back. This time, when Billy remembers to press his still-slick thumb against the puffy nipple, Frank can’t quite swallow his moan. Mouth soft and open, brows furrowed, and Billy _knows_ that look.

“Yeah, you close?” His voice is breathy, hitched with his own nearing orgasm, but he can’t stop talking. “You gonna come, Frankie? Come on, show me. Come for me, babe, fuck –“ 

So Frank, sweet as he is, does. Flush dark on his cheeks, down his neck, throat working, cock pulsing, come splattering on his twitching abs.  
Almost entirely silent, except for a soft little exhale, his powerful body twitching with the waves of his orgasm, with the effort of keeping his voice down.

Billy can’t bite back his own hitched little moans when he comes shortly after, drunk on Frank’s heavy-lidded stare, the wet shine of his tongue flicking over his bottom lip, the tight-wet slide of his hand. Pleasure rolls through him like a wave, blinding and drowning him for a moment before he comes to, gasping and wet and disoriented.

He blinks down at Frank, at his hand, still shoved underneath his bunched-up shirt. Carefully, he pulls his hand back, making sure not to let his sleeve slip into the mess on Frank’s abs, his chest. Once he’s tucked himself away again, he looks up to catch Frank’s eye.

Dark, half-lidded. He’s resting his sticky hand on his sweaty forehead, cheeks still flushed and breathing heavily. When he meets Billy’s eyes, he licks his lower lip, makes it shine in the pale moonlight. The shadows of his lashes fan over his cheekbones. 

Billy leans in and this time, their kiss is slow, languid-sweet. _Three more weeks,_ he thinks, then he’ll have a bed and a door with a lock and the time to spend an afternoon like this, lazily making out with Frank, come drying on their skin. 

Not yet, though. So he pulls back, making a face at the way his underwear clings to his soft-wet cock. “Like fucking Mormons. Next time, I’ll just suck you off.”

“Damn, none of that right now.” Frank’s cock, still flushed-wet where it’s resting against his stomach, twitches and he groans, dragging his sticky hand through his hair. At the feeling followed by the realisation, he makes a face and reaches down to tuck himself away. 

Billy takes the opportunity to get up, already missing the warmth of Frank between his thighs. He holds out a hand, pulling him up. The wind’s picked up a little and he watches Frank zip up his jacket, hiding the pushed-up shirt, the mess on his chest. The fabric of the sleeves is pulling over his biceps. “So, what about those push ups?”

“Fuck off.” Frank rolls his shoulders back, joints popping, but his voice is soft, warm with affection and a much-needed orgasm. When they make their way back to the tents, he walks close enough to make sure their shoulders brush.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!!! 
> 
> I have no excuse for this. The idea came to me randomly yesterday night and I wrote it between, like, 1am and 3am. Trés idiotique, considering I ended up getting 4 hours of sleep bc of it. Either way, here we are, with a "proofread" and expanded version.
> 
> The [original drabble](https://typinggently.tumblr.com/post/611523891719962624/typinggently-i-said-i-wanted-to-write-a-little) was posted on my writing tumblr. As u can see, no one asked for this. Pure self-indulgence. Which is why it has 0 plot except for Frank being sweet and buff and indulging and having nice tits. That's it. On that note - poor Frank. That's some unequal attention his nipples are getting. Billy ought to make up for that somehow. 
> 
> Also: I actually planned on having Billy lick Frank's chest clean, but in the end it didn't fit w the vibe. It would be a smart idea, but honestly, jacket zipped up over messy chest and shirt pushed up over tiddies is A Look. So there.
> 
> And on more note - mesomorph is a term to describe body types. Endomorph (gains fat easily) - Mesomorph (gains muscle easily) - Ectomorph (has a hard time gaining muscle/fat). Actually I have no clue if JB counts as mesomorph but like. Whatever? I just liked the idea that Frank would take even that little humble brag as a way to compliment Billy. Sneaking that "graceful" in there like a subtle little fox.
> 
> Either way, it's past 1am once more and I'm tired. I hope you enjoyed this little drabble! 
> 
> Have a nice night x


End file.
